A/N First off, I wanted to thank all those who reviewed. It is very helpful when I know what you guys are thinking, and what you guys think are bad ideas or good ideas. Please, continue letting me know!
Also, I wanted to clarify how I refer to Allison Cameron. When I am writing the thoughts and speech of her coworkers or other parties, I am using either her full name or the name Cameron, because I find it to be more professional. However, seeing as how this is a House/Cameron pairing, I am having House use her first name, Allison. I believe it makes it more personal, and reflects his feelings better. I wanted to let you know that I'm not being sporatic in the usage of her name.
Again, thank you for your reviews. I really do appreciate them.
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Allison stared up at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. The nurse had just left after bandaging her wrists and ankles. She also informed her that the police wanted to talk to her. They would be here in the next ten minutes or so, she thought to herself.
She turned her head, looking out the window. Her eyes were burning, undoubtedly from lack of sleep and from crying. She swallowed thickly. She didn't think she had ever cried so much in her life, as she had in the last 24 hours.
She slowly sat up, suddenly feeling the need to go to the restroom and look at herself in the mirror. She placed her feet on the cold linoleum floor, and slowly stood. She shuffled to the restroom door, closed her eyes, and flipped the switch. She slowly opened her eyes, seeing her reflection in the mirror. She stared at herself. She looked like a ghost. Her eyes were red and swollen, no doubt from crying. She noted her pallor complexion, due to lack of sleep.
She took a few more steps, stopping directly in front of the mirror. She raised her hands, lightly touching the bruises on her cheeks and forehead, as if willing them away. She traced the raw, painful spots at the corners of her mouth where the gag had rubbed against her skin. 'I need to ask for some ointment for this,' she thought.
While her hands were still at her face, she focused her eyes on her wrists, again noting the bandages covering the lacerations. They were going to scar, she could tell. No doubt the ankle lacerations would as well. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and turned around. She wanted to take a closer, more calculated look at the rest of her body, but she was already feeling weak. She needed to reserve her strength so that she could talk to the police.
She turned off the restroom light and made her way back to the bed and slowly got back underneath the covers. She shivered. She was freezing. Again, lack of sleep, she thought. And perhaps shock.
Allison jumped at a sudden sharp knock. "Come in," she called. The door opened and two men walked in, obviously the police. One was in his mid to late 50s, short, husky, and with a receding hairline. The other, probably in his early 30s, was taller and athletically built.
"Allison Cameron?" asked the older one. Allison nodded her head yes. They both advanced into the room, and stopped at her bedside. "I'm Detective Dave Fields, and this is my partner, Detective Andrew Shepherd," the older police officer said. "Is it okay to ask you a few questions?"
Allison nodded. "Yes, of course."
Detective Fields took out his notebook and pen, jotting down a few lines. "I realize you're probably tired, so we'll try to be as brief as possible. First off, we pulled a security video from the security system, but we still need to get a statement from you. Can you describe to us what happened?"
Allison took a deep breath, collecting herself. She needed to be as concise and detailed as she could. "I was walking to my car, and I had just placed my briefcase in the backseat when he slammed into me, and I fell. I tried to get away from him by crawling under the car, but I wasn't fast enough." She paused, clearing her throat, giving herself a moment to think back, remembering the details. "He tied my wrists and ankles. Then he took out a knife." Allison stopped, thinking back to that moment. "I thought he was going to kill me. But then he started to laugh. I could tell he was playing with me, wanting to scare me." She brushed her hands across the blanket that lay over legs. "He took me to some place. I was in the car for maybe twenty minutes. He took me into the building. Tied me down. Then he raped me." Allison glanced at Detective Fields. "I never saw his face. He had a ski mask on."
Detective Fields nodded. "Did he say anything to you? Would you recognize his voice?"
Allison shook her head. "No. He didn't say one word. But he did laugh." She closed her eyes, remembering her fear. Remembering her helplessness. She opened her eyes and met the detective's. "I'll always remember that laugh."
Detective Shepherd spoke up. "Can you describe him to us? Was he tall? Short? Thin? Could you tell what race he was?"
Allison brought her hands to her face, rubbing her temples. "He was tall. Over six feet. He was strong. Very strong." She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember anything about him. "He was muscular. I think he was white; it was dark, but I could see his hands. I am pretty sure he was white."
Suddenly her eyes sprang open. "He had a birth mark. When he took out his knife, I saw the back of his hand. He had a café au lait spot on the dorsal aspect of his left hand."
The detectives looked at each, seeming to communicate without saying anything. Detective Shepherd turned to her. "Another woman that was attacked, she also mentioned a skin discoloration on his left hand, though she didn't know what it was. Can you describe it to us?"
Allison nodded. "It was light brown, oval, perhaps 8 cm or more in size." She closed her eyes, wracking her brain for any additional information. "People who have café au lait spots usually only have a couple, three max. But if there are more than three, it's usually indicative of neurofibromatosis." She looked at the blank expressions on the faces of the detectives. "It's a genetically inherited disease of the nervous system. The patients develop tumors where nerves are located."
Detective Fields looked at her questioningly. "So….you believe he has neurofibromatosis?"
Allison shook her head impatiently. "I'm not saying that. I am just saying that since he has that specific birthmark, he may also have neurofibromatosis. It's a condition that has to be closely monitored. It's not rare, but it is also not common." A thought suddenly struck her. "It may also explain that he didn't take off his clothes. If he had, I might have seen the tumors."
The detectives once again glanced at each. "He didn't take off his clothes?" Detective Shepherd asked her slowly.
Allison shook her head. "No. No, he didn't." She looked down at her lap, deep in thought. She thought back to the attack. It had never consciously occurred to her that he hadn't taken off his clothes until just now. It wasn't something that she had taken note of. She had been in shock. She had been fighting for her life.
Suddenly, she felt nauseous. What else was she not remembering? What if he had said something, and she just didn't remember it? 'Oh my god,' she thought, 'he might have done or said something that would help catch him, but I can't remember it.'
"Are you okay? Ms. Cameron?" Detective Shepherd looked worriedly at his partner. "I think we need to call a nurse." Detective Fields nodded, turning to leave in order to find a nurse.
Detective Shepherd turned back to Allison, noting how pale she had become in the last few moments. "Ms. Cameron, do you hear me?"
Allison heard her name called, and raised her head, dazed. She saw the young detective looking at her, worry in his eyes.
"Do you hear me? Do you need help?"
She nodded. "I'm going to throw up," she whispered.
The detective looked quickly around himself, trying to find a container. He noticed a small bedpan across the room, grabbed it, and started back to the bed, but was too late. Allison turned weakly to the side of the bed, and vomited on the floor. She moaned as her ribs protested as she heaved, trying to apply pressure to her right side to relieve the pain.
At that moment, a nurse rushed in, followed by Detective Fields. She went immediately to Allison's side, grabbing the bedpan out of Detective Shepherd's hand on her way to her patient. She placed her arm around Allison's back, trying to support her.
"My ribs," Allison whispered breathlessly between dry heaves. The nurse nodded, and applied pressure to Allison's side, trying to alleviate the pain.
During this time, the detectives hung back, watching in silence. After a few moments, Allison stopped heaving and the nurse gently laid her back on the bed, repositioning the pillows. She turned to the detectives. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a minute while I get this cleaned up."
The detectives nodded, turning, but stopped at Allison's voice. "No, don't go yet," she whispered. She swallowed, grimacing at the taste in her mouth. "I'm sorry. I…I just don't know what I can remember. I keep recalling different things, but I don't know what else I'm forgetting." She swallowed slowly, feeling tears at the back of her throat. She forced them back down. She was not going to cry.
Detective Shepherd walked to her side. "Don't worry. This is normal. Things will slowly come back to you, and when they do, you just need to let us know as soon as possible." He gave her a slight smile. "We'll come back later, but I think you need to rest. You've been through a lot. Once you've had some time to rest, your memory will be better, and we'll be back to talk to you more. Okay?"
Allison nodded, thankful for his understanding and kindness. "Thank you," she said quietly.
He nodded, and turned back to his partner, both leaving the room. As they walked to the elevator, Detective Shepherd glanced at his partner. "If she's right about this neurofibromatosis thing, it will definitely narrow the suspects down."
Detective Fields nodded. "All the women said he didn't take off his clothes during the attack." He mulled this over in his head, biting the inside of his cheek. It was an old habit, something he did when he was thinking hard about something. His wife had tried to break him of it, but old habits die hard. "We need to talk to the other victim who noticed the thing on his hand, and see if her description corresponds with Allison Cameron's. If it does, then we definitely just got a break."
They both entered the elevator as the doors opened, and Shepherd pressed the button for the lobby. He turned to his partner with a worried look on his face. "Did you see the marks on her face? He's escalating. He threatened the other women, but he didn't beat them like that." He paused. "And he didn't restrain them either. He used his hands to control the victims in the other three rapes, but he didn't tie them down."
Fields nodded his head, agreeing. "I know. Which means we have to find him fast before he hurts another woman."
They both exited the elevator, and started for the main doors. Neither said another word until they reached the car and got in. As Shepherd started the car, he finally broke the silence. "She was trying in there. Did you see that? She's trying to remember, and because she can't, she's beating herself up."
He backed out of the parking space, and slowly made his way to the exit of the parking lot. "We should go back later tonight, to see if she has anything else for us to work with." He was quiet for a moment. "I feel awful for her, you know? I realize I've only been a detective for a couple of months, but to see how somebody can treat another human being like that boggles my mind. It's not like she did anything to deserve it. The pictures from the rape kit were just horrible." He forced himself to stop talking, genuinely upset.
Fields was quiet for a moment, trying to choose his words wisely. "Yes, I noticed." He paused, contemplating what he should say. "It's good to be empathetic, Shepherd. In fact, it makes you a better detective. But you can't get personal. You have to stay objective. I know you have a hard time with that. I understand, considering your past and all. But you need to keep Allison Cameron in your mind as a victim, not as a person. Nothing more. Or else you get too involved, messing up your judgment. And you can't afford that in this line of work."
Shepherd tightened his hands around the steering wheel. He knew his partner was right. He let out a sigh. He wasn't new to violence. He had been in the Marines since he was 18, fresh out of high school. He had just been medically discharged when he applied to the police academy. He had passed with flying colors; not surprising of course. They had immediately offered him a position as a detective, and he jumped at the chance. Why spend years pulling people over and handing them tickets if he could fast track his way to a job he knew he would like better; one he knew he would excel at. In the Marines, he had been a sniper. A damn good one, too. That is, until his right knee had been crushed while on a mission. He now had a total knee replacement, and he could perform just about any task. Slowly, that is. The Marines had discharged him, citing his injury and inability to 'keep up' with his fellow Marines. He had been bitter at first. Hell, he was still a little bitter. He had felt like they had thrown him away like a disposable washrag; he was damaged goods in their eyes.
But he liked being a detective. True, he didn't experience the same thrills; there weren't many adrenaline rushes in this line of work. But he liked puzzles. And there were several puzzles to be had in this job.
Fields had mentioned his past. He apparently knew about his sister. Word travels fast, it seems. Of course he didn't share this information with his coworkers. He enjoyed his privacy. He treasured it. But apparently one of his superiors had mentioned it to Fields, probably thinking he was doing him a favor; giving him a glimpse into the young man he was taking under his wing and molding into a detective. He realized it wasn't Fields fault, and he knew that his partner would keep this information to himself. But it still pissed him off that his private business was bandied about without his knowledge.
He couldn't help but think of his sister when he saw Allison Cameron in the hospital. But they didn't look alike at all. His sister had been fair, had possessed a fragile, ethereal beauty. Allison Cameron, on the other hand, was strikingly beautiful, with her dark hair and porcelain skin. She had looked so small in that bed. When he had at first laid eyes on her, his immediate reaction was that he needed to take care of her. The same way he had needed to take care of his sister, but had failed.
He turned to Fields. "Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind," he said simply.
Fields nodded. He could already tell that Shepherd was going to be excellent detective. And if he heeded his counsel, he would be outstanding.
Fields looked out his window. He just hoped Shepherd's past wouldn't interfere with his future.
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Chase massaged the back of his neck, willing the stiffness to go away. House had assigned him to do his paperwork. He hated paperwork. And House knew that. But he didn't complain. House had been right when he said that Chase felt guilty. But Chase was not going to admit it. He would quietly submit to House's punishments, paying recompense for his carelessness.
He glanced at the clock, noting it was 11:30 in the morning. He went back to his paperwork, sighing. He needed to go see Cameron. He wasn't sure what he would say, or if there was anything to say, but he needed to see her. He needed to ask for forgiveness for his actions. And he hoped that she would accept his apologies. And he was pretty sure she would; she wasn't one to hold a grudge. But then again, he wasn't sure if he would forgive him if he were in her shoes. And would he blame her if she held him accountable? He closed his eyes, running his hand through his hair slowly. She had every right to hate him. He didn't feel that he directly caused any of this, but he had certainly facilitated it.
He made his decision, getting up from the chair, and walked out of the department. Foreman had already told him what room she was in. No doubt, he gave him this information to spur him into action, feeling that he needed to talk to Cameron. It frustrated Chase that both Foreman and House were in the same line of thought that he was somehow culpable for all of this. He was used to being blamed, because he deserved it. He would readily admit that he would sell his father down the river if it meant that he would receive some sort of advancement. But this….this was different. It certainly wasn't intentional. And obviously he was receiving any kind of remuneration.
As he walked down the hallway to Cameron's hospital room, he suddenly felt his hands go damp. He slowed his pace, trying to think of what to say. He came to her room, and saw that the door was closed. He knocked lightly, and then pushed it open.
Allison's heart jumped when she heard the knock, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw only Chase in the doorway. "Hello," she greeted quietly.
Chase stood by the door, not coming very far into the room. He nodded at her hello, his mind blank. What to say?
Allison eyed him, starting to feel self conscious. He was staring at her, with an unreadable expression on his face. She hoped that he wasn't staring at the marks on her face. She shifted in the bed, looking away from him.
Chase was, in fact, staring at the bruises. This was the first time he had seen her since last night. He swallowed, feeling self hate exuding from his every pore. If he hadn't felt responsible before, now he felt totally blameworthy.
He walked slowly into the room, closer to the bed. Allison looked up at him expectantly when he stopped a couple of feet away. "I'm sorry," he hoarsely said. He looked down, not able to look at her face. "I'm sorry I didn't wait for you last night. I was..." his voice trailed off. He shook his head. He needed to make this apology matter. He looked back up at her. "It's my fault. I should have waited, but I didn't. I am just so sorry."
Allison was quiet. Chase was apologizing? She didn't blame Chase. Last night, Chase was just being….Chase.
"It's not your fault." She said this quietly, but with conviction. He met her eyes, shocked at her words. "It's not," she repeated. She looked down at her lap, pausing to consider her words before continuing. "I don't believe in fate. I don't believe that there is a master plan, that our futures have already been made. I believe in time and unforeseen occurrence." She raised her eyes to his. "And last night was just that. So many different things happened that could have changed. I could have drawn the short straw. The security guard could have met me at the doors. You could have waited for me. But none of those things happened." She paused, realizing how much she truly believed in her words. She somehow felt more at peace within herself, for speaking them. It was nobody's fault.
Chase's eyes met her gaze, not saying anything. He didn't deserve to get off this easily, he thought. She should be screaming at him, raving about his selfishness and irresponsibility. But instead, she was letting him off the hook, without an angry word uttered. "Why?" He spoke the single word with so much feeling that his voice cracked with emotion.
Allison looked down at her hands in her lap. She knew he was not only asking why she didn't blame him, but also why she did not blame anyone. Why was it nobody's fault?
She took a deep, slow, steadying breath. "Because I wouldn't be able to live, wondering 'what if.'" She closed her eyes. "If I had just went back to get Foreman. Or if I had just waited for the security guard. If I had heard him behind me…" She opened her eyes and looked at Chase. "So, you see, it's not just you I'm letting off easily. It's myself also."
Chase nodded, still not fully understanding, but accepting her reasons. He turned around, located a chair, pulled it beside her bed, and sat down. "How do you feel?"
Allison smiled, but winced when the corners of her mouth protested at the strain. Chase noticed this, noting the raw skin around her mouth. He pulled his Burt's Bees lip balm out of his pocket and handed it to her. She took it from him gratefully, and applied it to her lips. "I've always loved Burt's Bees," she said.
Chase smiled and nodded, grateful at her attempt of small talk. "Just don't tell anyone I carry lip balm, or I'll never hear the end of it." Allison smiled back, and went to hand it back to him, but he shook his head. "You can keep it. I have a whole stash in my locker." She nodded her thanks, placing it on the bedside table.
"To answer your question, I'm doing better than I would have expected." She sighed, looking out the window. "I want to go home, though. As crazy as this sounds, I hate hospitals." She closed her eyes, bringing her hands to her neck to rub away the tension. "I just want this all to be over," she whispered so quietly that Chase barely heard her.
He nodded silently. He could only imagine. "Do you know when they're releasing you?"
"Tomorrow." She winced as she accidentally brushed her fingers too hard against her skin. They had put antibacterial ointment on her nailbeds, and placed bandages on the worst of her fingers. But it still hurt when she applied too much pressure while using her hands. She let her hands fall to her sides, and looked at Chase. "Any progress with the patient?"
Chase eyed her. "I don't think you need to worry about that right now. House, Foreman, and I are taking care of him."
Allison nodded her head. "I figured. I just wanted to talk about something else besides being in the hospital and lip balm."
Chase smiled, understanding. He stood up and walked to the window and started to explain the symptoms. "Well, he started complaining of chest pain earlier today, and we did a ventilation perfusion scan, and found a pulmonary embolus. He has a fever, pleural effusions, nausea and vomiting. We did a CT of his chest, and found what I believe to be sequela from previous granulomatous disease, but it's inconclusive. When I suggested that, House practically laughed me out of the Radiology Department." He shook his head, still upset by House's reaction. He turned to Cameron. "And then…" He stopped. She was asleep.
He walked quietly to the door, and took one last look at her before closing it behind him, trying to be as quiet as possible.
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House limped down the hallway to the Oncology Department, making his way to Wilson's office. He walked in without knocking, causing Wilson to glower at him.
"One of these days you're going to regret you didn't knock, House." He turned back to his paperwork, reading over the chart of his next patient.
House made his way to Wilson's desk and sat. After a few moments of waiting for Wilson to look at him, he started thumping his cane against the desk. He immediately saw Wilson's jaw stiffen, and continued, but with more force.
Wilson threw his pen down on his desk and looked at House. "Is there a reason you must act like a 5-year-old with ADD?"
House frowned. "Now that's just not nice." He stopped his knocking, and regarded Wilson. "At least I don't have a short attention span when it comes to marriage."
Wilson rubbed his temples with fingers, closing his eyes. "Is there something you need? I have an appointment in fifteen minutes."
House was silent for a moment. "I need some advice." He twirled his cane in his hand, and looked up at Wilson. "About Allison."
Wilson eyed him. "It's Allison now, huh? You have always referred to her as Cameron."
"Are you going to help me, or not?" House asked, frustrated. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Wilson knew him too well. He knew him well enough that he could tell what he was thinking most of the time, and right now he wanted to keep his personal thoughts about Allison to himself.
Wilson nodded. "How is she?" he asked.
"She's resting. They're keeping her overnight for observation and then releasing her." He paused, setting his cane down on the floor. "I told her that I would stay with her at her apartment. So that she wouldn't be alone." He looked up at Wilson to see his reaction.
Wilson leaned back in his chair, considering. "House, you need to tread carefully here."
House stood up and started pacing. "I know that. Of course I know that. It just spilled out of my mouth. And I can't stand to think of her being alone at night. She has no business being by herself at night, after what just happened." He slowed his pacing, rubbing his thigh. He turned to Wilson. "I want to be there for her, to show her that I care. But I don't think that I should stay with her. It just doesn't seem to be a good idea." He let this sink in. "What do you think?"
Wilson rubbed his chin, deciding what to say. "I agree. But you can't just recant now." He slowly shook his head. "You need to talk to her, and see if she wants you to stay with her. If she thinks she can be by herself, then that's great. If not…then you're going to have to follow through with your offer. This is not a time to make her feel abandoned."
House sat back down, feeling truly torn. He wanted to stay with Allison. He did. But he also believed he was not the right person for this kind of job. He looked up at Wilson. "What if I have a nurse stay with her?"
Wilson stared at him. "Oh, that's the right way to treat a rape victim. Have a total stranger stay with her. I'm sure she'll feel safe and loved."
House glared at him. "No reason to be a jerk about it." He sat back. He dug out his Vicodin from his pocket and dry-swallowed a couple, hoping that it would lessen the pain in his leg.
Wilson considered House sitting across from him, and decided to get to the bottom of the issue. "House, do you have feelings for Cameron?"
House jerked his head up. "No!" He stared hard at Wilson. "She's my employee. I'm trying to be a thoughtful boss for once."
Wilson considered what he said. "If you do have feelings for her, then right now is not the time to act on them. What you should do is let her know you're a friend and that she can talk to you if she needs to. But the last thing she needs is to deal with your advances. She-"
"I'm not declaring my unconditional love here, Wilson! I'm trying to help her through this!" House yelled at him. He started to get up, but Wilson stopped him.
"Hear me out, please." He waited for House to resettle himself in the chair, and continued. "We both know Cameron had a thing for you. She probably still does. But right now she's not in the right mind frame to think about those feelings; or yours, for that matter. And if you did make advances towards her and she accepted them, she may resent you later. She may feel you took advantage of her." Wilson paused, letting this sink in. "So if you do have some unresolved issues here, you need to put those on the back burner right now. Let her heal from this. And then, when she is better able to make those decisions, you can talk to her about it. Just not right now. So just act like you normally do with her, but you may want to go easy on the sarcasm and gruffness. Don't treat her any differently than how you treat Foreman or Chase."
House listened to this, looking down at the floor. Wilson was right. He needed to wait for Allison to get better, and then, if he still had feelings for her, he would address them.
"Thanks, Wilson." He slowly got up, and limped to the door. He turned back and looked at Wilson, asking the question he was most embarrassed to ask that revealed his feelings. "When do you think she'll be better from this?"
Wilson shrugged. "I have no idea. I guess only time will tell."
House nodded, and left the office, leaving Wilson alone. He closed the file in front of him and got up to go see his patient. He certainly hoped that House would pull through this, and let Cameron know how he felt about her. Because if not, he didn't think his friend would ever be a happy man.
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A/N As you can tell, I'm going to introduce a couple of new characters in this story. Try to make it more interesting. Let me know what you think of Det. Shepherd. I'm trying to make him as interesting as possible.